


Replacing Memories

by Kabal42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-07
Updated: 2008-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabal42/pseuds/Kabal42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter at (The Cupboard under the Stairs) no. 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey with a Time-Turner.<br/>"We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered. (Tom Stoppard, <i>Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead </i>")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Replacing Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HP Wankfest in 2008  
> With thanks to Elfflame for the beta.

'Honestly, Harry, why not? It's not like we haven't done pretty much anything there is to do in bed...' Ginny looked at him, her brown eyes full of questions, along with a mix of worry and annoyance.

Across the room, Ron gasped and Harry sent him a warning look; the last thing he needed was for Ron to go all big brother on them while he was having an already uncomfortable argument with Ginny.

'It's not that I don't want you to,' he tried. 'I'm not trying to shut you out or something.'

'Oh, please. How stupid do you think I am, Harry?' The annoyance was winning the battle with the worry in her eyes and Harry steeled himself. She was hellishly good at arguing and he wasn't. 'You don't want me to stay over and you won't give me a proper reason. If you don't have a reason, then you're just being a bastard, and if you do, then you're most definitely shutting me out by not telling me what it is!'

She was right and he knew it. Harry looked down, completely at loss for something to say. Ginny, for her part, waited for his answer, watching him with her arms crossed over her chest. Harry had to come up with something.

'Look,' he said, raising his eyes to meet hers, only then realising she'd got up and was standing in front of him, looking down. It made him feel even more uncomfortable. 'I will fix it, okay? Give me a chance? I promise you I'll explain it all next time you come over – fixed or not – but I need to try and work it out first. Please?'

Ginny clearly wasn't pleased, but she nodded. 'One week, Harry.' She leaned down and kissed him and he felt the relief of knowing she wasn't seriously ticked off at him. 'I know talking about how you feel is hard for you, but you've got to trust me some time. Okay?'

Harry nodded. It was more than okay. He wanted to learn to trust her, too, but he had to admit it was taking time and more of it than he'd ever thought.

* * *

After days of thinking, Harry knew what he was going to attempt. He had not idea why he thought it would work, but he felt it was worth trying. It might be the act of a desperate man, but that was what he was at this point.

Ginny wasn't the only one to worry about. His friends were sending him worried looks and more often than not, Hermione would, almost timidly, ask him at breakfast if he'd slept all right. Harry would always say 'not as bad as I could have' and leave it at that. That didn't stop the looks, but it stopped the talk.

The fact of the matter was that he couldn't talk about it. Never in all his years had Harry spoken of his life before and outside of Hogwarts. He hadn't mentioned the cupboard or the locked doors, the starving, the fear and the habit of ducking blows and various objects aimed at him. The memories were both far too painful and far too shameful. The closest anyone had got was the twins and Ron when they busted the bars on his window. Harry had never elaborated, not even to them, about what had been going on behind those bars.

Worse than the thought of his friends finding out was the idea that the press might. Or someone in a position to start rumours that might reach said press. Had he not already had nightmares, Harry would have been plagued by ones depicting headlines about his past blown up on the front of The Daily Prophet in huge, bright letters. No, he had to act, and soon. Before someone caught wind of this.

All of these were the reasons he was now standing in his Aunt Petunia's hydrangea, holding a Time-turner. It would be an awful lot of turns, but that was the least of his problems. It was far more crucial that he avoided bumping into anyone over the years of going back he had to to – hence standing in the hydrangea rather than sitting under it as he'd once done to listen to the news.

He adjusted the small dial that let him go back years and began turning. Then he switched to months and, finally, to days and hours. He wanted to hit the exact time – or at least as close as possible with a Time-turner. When he heard the raised voices inside, he knew he was then.

Harry slipped under his Invisibility cloak and crept out from the hydrangea and up to the kitchen door. It was open and he slipped inside; now he could truly hear the noise from the living room. His Uncle was yelling and Aunt Petunia complaining. He thought he even heard Dudley yelp at some point.

Slowly and very careful to not make a sound, he crept into the hall and entered the cupboard. It looked exactly as he remembered, only smaller now that he was bigger. To be on the safe side, he shut the door and made sure the lock snapped. As the light disappeared, he was flooded with memories that he thought were long gone. Flashes from a past he hadn't been consciously aware of.

That same door slamming on him when he was small enough to stand up in here. Being hungry and having to sneak out at night, scared that he would be found out. Waking up screaming after a dream of cruel laughter and green light, only to find the door was locked and he couldn't get out, couldn't breathe, had to get away.

It took several deep breaths to calm down, but even then, Harry's heart was still racing. He had to struggle with himself to stay there, even more so when the voices began to penetrate the thin door and the angry shouts brought back a new flood of unpleasant memories. It felt like his throat was closing and he swallowed hard.

He couldn't run. This was why he was here. To face those memories, see them again, exorcise them with the strength of the present. With the knowledge that he was here voluntarily and had done things that far surpassed being locked in a cupboard. Knowing that he'd survived.

So Harry stayed and forced himself to sit still and to breathe. For a while, he was all right, but then, unbidden, came the thought of Voldemort's attack, the memory of the laughter superimposed with the memory of the green light actually hitting him. He was a baby and alone and he was seventeen and fell to the ground, thinking he was dead.

Harry bit his lip to keep from crying out. He had to turn this around, somehow! Just had to! It wasn't enough to just sit here as he'd thought it would be, it only got worse. There had to be some way of changing this space, both the physical and mental one, and take away its power.

It was the fact that he was panting that gave him the idea. His heart-rate was fast, he was light-headed and this was reminding his body of very different situations. He also remembered badly wanting to have sex before he went to his presumed death, as if the knowledge of imminent death called for the most life-bringing of acts. The thought alone was enough to cause a reaction in the hyper-sensitive state he was in.

He went with it. The idea was so absurd it just might work and Harry had always felt better doing things rather than analysing them. The cramped space could barely accommodate his shifting to pull up his robes, but he managed. This had better work or he'd have a new kind of bad memory to deal with – or worse, the memory of being discovered like this.

The second his hand closed around his cock, he forgot his reservations. He had no idea he needed it so much. It was all he could do to hold back his moans when he began to stroke himself in slow, sure movements.

Soon, other thoughts entered his mind, different kinds of memories. Soft skin under his hands. The scent of sunlight in hair as soft lips met his own. Other lips around his cock, that was as hard as it was now. The incredible feeling of his cock moving inside another person, beautiful eyes looking back up at him, dark and filled with lust.

It was that expression on that face that did it. He stuffed his free hand in his mouth to keep from crying out as the orgasm made him shudder and spasm. Here in the dark, he couldn't tell what had happened, but he felt the spurts of semen hit him and knew it would have reached at least one of the walls pressing in on him. He had to feel his way around to wipe it off and all he had to use was his sleeve. At least he could clean the robes as soon as he was out.

With fumbling fingers he picked the lock and let a sliver of light inside. The voices, previously drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears, were lower now, and Harry pulled the Invisibility cloak tight around himself as he slipped out of the cupboard and through the kitchen once more.

His last thought as he Apparated home was that he doubted he'd have nightmares tonight. After that, he'd take it one night at a time and, if he had to, one memory at a time. He still had the Time-turner and there were no limits to when he could go to change his memories.


End file.
